


All of The Stars

by HunterWizard



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Skating, BAMF Allura (Voltron), Bickering, Bilingual Lance (Voltron), Competition, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Dorks in Love, F/M, Falling In Love, Female Pidge | Katie Holt, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Four Continents Figure Skating Championships, Friendship/Love, Grand Prix Final, Human Allura (Voltron), Human Coran (Voltron), Hunk & Pidge | Katie Holt Friendship, Hunk (Voltron) is a Good Friend, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Ice Skating, Idiots in Love, Insecure Lance (Voltron), Keith & Pidge | Katie Holt Friendship, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Character of Color, LGBTQ Themes, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron)-centric, Mutual Pining, Pidge | Katie Holt-centric, Pining, Pining Lance (Voltron), Romance, Sassy Pidge | Katie Holt, Skating, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Socially Awkward Keith (Voltron), Space Dad Shiro (Voltron), Space Uncle Coran (Voltron), United States Figure Skating Champs Camp, World Figure Skating Championships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-06-14 02:29:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15378726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterWizard/pseuds/HunterWizard
Summary: Katie Holt loves to skate. Simple as that. So when her brother Matt leaves their legendary ice dancing duo, she doesn't let that stop her from becoming one of the world's top ladies' figure skaters.Castle Rink has always been her home, home to her ice, her best friends, and every part of her skating life. So it's more than surprising when a brand new coach turns up, wanting to set in roots and find a home too.It's even more surprising when that new coach turns out to be Lance McClain.Her idol, Lance McClain.(also published on Wattpad, by HunterWizard)





	1. Chapter One: The Greatest Show

"And now, we welcome one of the most anticipated skaters in this final group standing at second after a phenomenal short program. Only a few years into his senior debut and already a three time national champion in his hometown of Cuba and a two time Worlds and Grand Prix Finals medalist! Everyone, welcome to the ice...Lance McClain!"

Without missing a beat, Lance glides smoothly on the ice, greeted by an immensely loud cheer and applause. He's dressed in a simple outfit, comparatively gentler to his short program outfit (which, with its low v neck and fiery reds, was the talk of the town).  Black pants, a dark blue jacket edged with bright blue on the buttons and sleeves. The audience goes wild, waving posters and banners with his name, his face painted on them, girls screaming, guys screaming. Everybody loves Lance McClain. 

He's ready for this. Lance knows he can make up those three points that Lotor has on him  from the short with no problem. If one thing is for sure, it's that PCS is his strength. PCS is his strength. 

Starting pose. Simple, feet in a V, head looking down, hands behind his back. The crowd goes quiet, excited, anticipating the performance to come. 

And the music begins. 

Soft, quiet notes quickly evolve to a sharp, controlled tango. 

Adios Nonino. He did always love the piece. Another warhorse, but no matter. 

"McClain comes from a very small fed, so it's remarkable, what he's done. And such maturity for his age...you can see how even the first few transitions of the program have so much thought put into them. Remarkable."

He smoothly glides across, his crossovers perfectly matching the ascending music. Three turn, three turn...up in the air, land with bent knee, swing knee back, up in the air again. 

"A splendid quadruple toe-triple toe!"

Without missing a beat, Lance skates faster again to pick up with the music, using a complicated entry into his favorite quadruple salchow. 

Lance launches into a flying camel spin, the cheers from his jump barely finished. Instead, they grow, as he does his signature sit spin position, pulling up into an upright spin and exiting with a pivot. 

Lance lets a little smile show, for his second-favourite portion of the program is about to begin. For sake of points, he kept majority of his jumps in the second half, bridging the gap with his infamous step sequence. 

"McClain is famous and very much loved for his expressive step sequences-"

A rocker, timed with the music. His arms dip along with his choctaw-mohawk-counter, eyes raising to the sky while he kicks up his leg and moves into a smooth-as-silk twizzle. 

"-He always achieves his Level 4, and honestly would get a Level 5 if such a thing would exist, haha...-"

The music builds, and Lance ends his step sequence with an illusion, rocker-counter-loop turn combo right at the side of the rink. 

Onto the jumps again...

"That's a very high quad sal-triple toe, just inside the second half!"

Lance allows himself to let out a sigh of relief.Thank god. He always was weak at that combo. 

"His final quad, the quad toe coming up..."

Difficult entry. With an irrepressible grin, he impulsively throws his hands up, clasping them together as he turns in the air. His last quad needs to be  _beautiful_.  And he lands it, as solidly as the first, the crowd going wild with his little surprise. 

"Quad toe with the hands above the head! Beautiful!"

Lance smirks. 

Lotor wouldn't stop him. So what if he had a quad lutz? So what if he had the best technical content in the world? It doesn't matter. Because Lance lives, breathes, loves skating, with all his heart. It would take something big to stop him-

_Thud,_

Suddenly, his head spins, shutting down. Lance's limbs stop co-operating, turning to jelly, his brain spinning incomprehensible thoughts, none of which were focused on skating. 

_What's happening? Why can't I move? Why can't I feel anything? Come on! Wake up! Lance, wake up, not now-_

His feet slip out from under him. 

_Thud,_

Lance's head hits the ice. 

_Thud_.

Everyone goes silent, the music quieting. 

Adios Nonino has never sounded more ominous than now. The commentators don't even say anything, too stunned, too shocked. 

Lance lies pitifully in the center of the rink, slumped on his side, blood trickling down the side of his face. Paramedics shout, flooding the rink, the whole crowd suddenly breaking into screams  and yells and shouts, howling in pain for their favourite Lance McClain, screaming in anger, the ruckus creating a cacophony of sound in the echo-filled stadium. 

The only part of Lance left on the ice is a trail of blood. 

**~2 YEARS LATER~**  

"Pidge!"

Castle Rink bustles with the usual crowd of kids, teenagers, a few kids practicing for their upcoming tests. But among the childish amateurs was a girl, back arched gracefully, just spinning, and spinning...and spinning....

"PIDGE!"

The voice startles her, Pidge tripping out of her spin and nearly landing on her face. She can hear Keith snickering on the side. 

"What the hell is it, Allura?!" 

"I've got news! A new coach!" Allura, standing at the edge, yells from across. Pidge skates over quickly, relaxing beside her on the edge. 

"A new coach coming?" Pidge echoes, leaning on the side of the rink, sipping from her sports bottle. "He any good?"

"One of the best, apparently," Allura chirps, gracefully loop-turning around her. "I watched him while he was still competitive. Very artistic. You could use some of that!"

Pidge glares at her, pouting childishly, rubbing her eyes and slipping her glasses back on. 

Meditatively, Pidge drinks in the ASMR-esque scratching, the slightly-wet-but-not-too-wet ice that became her favorite, the little sandwich place that Hunk works part-time at, the mix of rock and pop music always blaring, everything has been there for years. Castle Rink is the most homely place for any kind of skater, whether a first-timer or an international class figure/hockey skater. So a new coach? That would shake things up considerably. 

There was always Shiro, hockey and figure skating coach. He also used to coach Pidge more often until Allura came. Allura, ex-competitive figure skater who was extremely successful in her time, and one of Pidge's favourite coaches. Coran, retired speed skater who loves to teach children and beginners, and is amazingly good at getting people started. Hunk and Keith, who (together) were two of the best young hockey coaches for the little league that she had ever seen. And there's Pidge herself! Ever since she was legally old enough, she'd started coaching along with her competitive skating. She wasn't amazing, but she was good for her age. So having a new coach would be...strange. New. Pidge's train of detailed thought is mercilessly interrupted by-

"-Why the fucking hell is Hunk wearing a tutu?" Keith yells, loud enough for Hunk to hear him from the other side.

"Keith! Mind your fucking language!"

Pidge snorts. 

"Shiro? The hell bruv?" Hunk makes a face of horror, clasping his hands over a small child's ears. "And by the way, it's called, "I'm not restricted by notions of toxic masculinity", and one of the little boys felt sad because no one else was wearing a tutu!" Hunk yells from the side, turning back to his class. Pidge giggles.

"Keith, maybe you should throw one of those shits on. Maybe then you'd actually look cute. How about a tiara?" 

"Oooh, burn..." Keith rolls his eyes. Suddenly, he plops on the ice, spreading his arms out and snow angeling, his hand snatching out and pulling Pidge down beside him. "I need ice so badly for it!"

Cue two giggling teenagers lying on the very-cold ice, a bemused tutu-touting coach, two face-palming coaches, and a host of judgmental skaters looking at the crew with raised eyebrows.

How the holy hell she's a coach, Pidge still doesn't know. 

Speaking of coaching, the more-buff-than-average-skater  Shiro swoops from Allura over to Pidge on the ice, smiling down at her with a mockingly patronizing look. Ugh. Pidge can hear the swoons of a bunch of teenage girls and the sound of one of them falling on their ass. 

Wait.

Oh crap.

Class. 

_Jump class._

"You ready for class? Hope your flip is good today."

Pidge slouches over, skating a quick lap and ending in the center. 

"...sure."

**~~~**

Pidge thanks whatever gods are out there that the doors of Castle Rink are automated. Somehow, Shiro had managed to even make her  _arms_  ache. 

Ahh...

The air's cooler now, as per the months changing to the fall season. No problem. Pidge's spring green tights, leather jacket, wool-knit sweater and boots are admittedly more than necessary for the weather. 

As always, the walk home is boring. Lonesome. None of the gang live anywhere near her, so she's lived alone for so long, just to train at Castle Rink. Her only friend is her trusty skate bag, clanging at her side. That reminds her, she's really got to buy a Zuca bag at some point for the sake of her shoulders. 

If only Matt had stayed...

Curses. Pidge shakes the thought out of her head angrily, stomping into the apartment. It's anything but bare, since Pidge has lived here for so long; Hoarder Pidge had collected all kinds of knick-knacks, a lot of which were posters of her favorite shows, some of her old inventions, and gifts from fans at competitions. Ever since that one time she mentioned a love for power rangers and anime, that was all she was getting. 

_Whoosh._

Off goes her jacket, off goes her sweater. She's left in tights and a tank top. 

Pidge falls back on the bed with considerable force, her hair tickling her rough pillow. Carelessly, her phone flops out of her hand and on the small nightstand, glasses following soon after. Quiet night air seeps in through the window, tickling her face. Dammit, Pidge is too goddamn lazy to go close it. Besides, the cold never bothered her anyway, right?

She just wants her eyelids to fall shut, for her brain to go right into the dreamworld. After all, she does really need it. 

_"Not enough knee bend!"_

_"GODDDAMN IT, SHIRO, YOU CAN'T MAKE ME TRIPLE LUTZ LIKE TEN TIMES IN A ROW!"_

_"Now, now, who says I can't?"_

That goddamn sunshine smile hides so, so much ruthlessness. Pidge scowls. 

She's not able to sleep. 

Why can't she sleep?

_Ding!_

**_New Message From: Allura_**  

Groaning, Pidge rolls up and puts on her glasses again, her back sliding up to the backboard of the bed, tank top riding up. Grumpily, she reads the message. 

**Allura** : I've just locked up, but new coach is in the rink trying it out! He's cute ;)

Pidge rolls her eyes, laughing a little. Allura did try to set her up a couple times, but picky, analytical, practical Pidge had never really considered any of them a possibility. 

**Pidge** : Can't possibly be cuter than you, Allura. 

**Allura** : You flatter me. You might like this one!

Pidge thinks:

1) She can't sleep.

2) She's restless

3) New coach. New coach. New coach!

Maybe she'll ask for some lessons. Or maybe she'll learn some things from him to coach. Or maybe he'll be a completely inextricable douchebag. So many possiblities, and Pidge didn't know what to expect. Allura was definitely withholding his name on purpose.  

Pidge doesn't like knowing. She's used to knowing. And Pidge is undeniably, undeniably excited

_Well...it wouldn't hurt to walk back to the rink now, would it?_

Pidge can almost see Allura laughing at her already. 

**~~~**

_Hmm..._

_So this is Castle Rink, huh?_

_Nice sign. Hmm...unlock the door...wow, automated doors! Very clean, light blue and teal themed, minimalist decor...not bad. Holy shit, is that an in-house burger bar?!_

Upon reading the signs and Allura's multiple apologetic text messages about not being able to come, Lance figures out where everything is with ease. It would be nice to settle in. 

It's been so long since he's had a rink to call home. There was always something wrong with each rink, and they'd always found something wrong with him. 

"You're not worth the trouble!" said the head coach in a rink in Cuba. Actually, multiple coaches in Cuba had said so. His students were sad to see him leave, but the coaches certainly weren't. Being casual was apparently bad, who knew?

"All you are is a skater. You'll never be a great coach." said Iverson, the first head coach he'd come to know (and hate. A lot) in America after moving, pulled in by his few memories from Skate America, the burgers, the pizza, and the new atmosphere. Maybe he'd be liked more here, he had thought. 

Lol. 

Many coaches were old, and traditional, and stuffy, and very prideful. Lance was literally everything but; so his "Wassup, amigo!" greetings and suggestions of new techniques had not gone over well. Heh. They sure were jealous of his talent, right! Talent for actually making the kids like him, for getting to kids to understand and listen. 

Maybe here would be different. Lance sure has higher hopes for Castle Rink. Especially...especially because of a certain skater. She's athletic, has great spins and a quirky style on the ice...one Katie Holt. Not exactly America's sweetheart, but more of a dark horse in the ladies' field, winning a few surprise international medals. She's a unique story too, what with being American Junior Champion in ice dance with her brother Matt, breakout stars, and suddenly switching to singles the season after. 

He plops his bag down, sitting down on one of the benches, quickly lacing up his skates with his strong, learned and lean fingers, tightening them enough to squeeze every little bit of life out of his feet, much like himself as a whole. 

Even in the darkness, the rink looks abundantly beautiful, the light shimmer just reflecting flecks of ice on the edges of the rink. Fresh ice! Great! 

Lance hops over to where the music controller is...supposed to be? He's not great at this. He peeks down at his phone again. 

**Allura** : Careful, the music system is easy to damage if you're not careful. And it's on the right, don't forget!

Shit, okay then...Lance plugs in his phone, scrolling through his music list with a fast-moving thumb. What to play, what to play...

Oh. 

He stops scrolling. 

Hmm. 

Click. 

Lance has tried not to listen to this song as much as possible since...the accident. But something about Castle Rink makes him want to revisit this, to try it again. The poetic irony of the lyrics nearly makes him break out into painful laughter. Maybe his song choice doomed him! Who knows!

Lance slips on his gloves, pulls off his legendary light-up blade guards (that the kids had loved, the media had...questioned, and his fans had adored) and skates onto the rink. A great sensation. 

A new rink, a new beginning...

A new program.

The first notes of the song begin, and Lance lets himself be whirled away. 

_**~~~** _

This is the  _worst_  idea Pidge has ever had. The fucking  _worst_. And she's had her fair share of bad ideas. 

1) She didn't bring food, and she's suddenly starving, and there's an unfortunate lack of convenience stores near the rink,

2) She only threw on her sweater and abandoned the jacket, and it suddenly decided to turn colder than the fucking ice. What the hell?!

3) For all she knows, this coach could be a pedo, an idiot, a creep...and she's about to meet with him alone! Shit!

No no no no. Pidge eliminates the last one. Allura handpicked him. Coran met with him, right? 

What if he's actually cute? 

Slightly out of breath, she stumbles through the automatic doors, annoyed that he'd left it unlocked and unsafe, but somehow also grateful that he'd left them unlocked so she could stumble in with the gracefulness of a freaking elephant. Fuck, the cold really is getting to her...

_Warm._

Who knew that would be a word to describe an ice rink?

It's quiet at first, but as Pidge walks through the front, passing the counter and rentals, gentle notes of nearly ominous sounding music echo, become striking as the song progresses.

Pidge walks forward. 

_Step_.

_Step_. 

Scratches of skates. Amazingly deep edges that Pidge can even  _hear_. And they're smooth as day, the flow never truly stopping. 

Pidge starts to run, pressing herself to the edge of the rink.

There he is. 

Is it...no....way...

Lance McClain?!

With the grace of an angel, speed of a Maglev bullet train, he glides across the ice. Crossover, turns, all executed with perfection, arm movements just hitting every little beat in the music. 

_I was the one who had it all  
I was the master of my fate  _

He looks so serene. How is he still skating? Wasn't he injured? What happened to Lance McClain, why is he only a coach?!

_I'll never shake away the pain_  
I close my eyes but she's still there  
I let her steal into my melancholy heart  
It's more than I can bear

In all of her competitive years, she only ever got to see Lance McClain skate live once, once only...and she never forgot it. His arms swing above his head dramatically, opening slowly as he does multiple three turns.

_Now I know she'll never leave me_

He turns right into a perfect triple loop. Amazing. Landed right on time. Height, distance, flow...a little less than what she's seen, but fucking gorgeous still, especially considering everything. 

  
_And be with me for evermore_

A camel spin. His signature sit spin. Gorgeous position, pulling into a haircutter and exiting. One of the only men in the field to do layback positions. One of the things the people loved him for. Pidge would never admit it, but she had copied that very spin combination a  _lot_  when she was younger. 

  
_It's not idolatry, Jesus!_

_I rage against the trials of love  
_

_I curse the fading of the light  
_

_Though she's already flown so far beyond my reach  
_

_She's never out of sight_

Step sequence. Who the hell choreographed this program? He never skated this in his career, not that she can remember. His unfortunately short career. He skips a couple jumps, replacing them with a little toe tap to landing position which Pidge guesses should have been quads. No non-competitive skater maintains quads or the stamina to skate a full program like this.   
  


_Now I know she'll never leave me  
_

_Even as she fades from view  
_

_She will still inspire me  
_

_Be a part of everything I do_    _  
_

His skating is too honest, too expressive to be faked. The pain on his face is not an act. It is so raw that Pidge can nearly feel the longing, the adoration...the regret. Lance never liked serious, deep programs...Pidge's eyes can only widen with wonder. What does this mean? He is so beautiful...wait, what the fuck?

_Wasting in my lonely tower  
_

_Waiting by an open door  
_

_I'll fool myself, she'll walk right in_

Another spin, even faster than the last. The music builds, and builds, and so does Lance's speed with back crossovers. No way. He's not done with the jumps? So late in the program, and he wants to jump?! Shitting hell, what's wrong with this guy?!  
  
_And as the long, long nights begin_ ,  
  
Three turn...  
  
_I'll think of all that might have been,_  
  


His knee bends...

_Waiting here for evermore!_  
  
...one...two...three...

He doesn't land. 

...four?!

Pidge thinks he's going to make it, he's so close to making it...but suddenly, he loosens his body after the four rotations as if losing concentration, crashing to the ground with an awfully, painfully loud thud. 

The skater slumps on the ice, resembling a dead corpse. Bad analogy. 

_No. No. No._

He doesn't move for a moment. 

Pidge waits. And waits. 

Still no sound. 

_Shit_. 

Pidge drops her phone and dashes onto the ice as fast as she humanly can. 

"Hey, Lance? Lance?!" she grabs his shoulder, shaking hard. "Lance! Hey, come on, wake up! We kind of hired you as a coach, pretty bad form to faint before your first day!" 

Quiet. 

Still no sound. 

"Dammit!"

Pidge turns away, almost ready to speed off the ice and to her phone, when out of nowhere a hand grabs her wrist and pulls her with unexpected strength. 

"What the-"

Lance McClain is sitting up, smiling, those captivating blue eyes staring right into her own. Pidge gapes for a second, and another, and another. There's barely any distance between them, Pidge kneeling and still shorter, her face tilted upwards slightly. She can almost count every freckle...

"Katie Holt, isn't it? Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Pidge doesn't answer. This isn't exactly the meeting she'd hoped for. 

Wait!

Suddenly, her eyebrows knit, eyes narrowing and mouth pinching in. She breaks her hand out of his grip and moves away,  his face falling slightly. 

"Were you faking it back there? Falling? Injury?!"

The moment dissipates in a flash. Lance chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck and looking down, before fixing Pidge with a charming, mischievous smirk. 

"I'm not only a figure skater, I'm also an amazing actor, didn't you know?"

"You-you saw me?! Watching you?!"

"Yes, I've got eyes..." Lance studies her face, teasingly flicking her glasses. "Probably better ones than you, judging by these. And I think you liked my skating, no? I know I'm charming, but I didn't know I was so good-"

"Oh, shut up."

Pidge gets up, turning away in a far-fetched effort to hide her deepening blush. This...is definitely not what she expected. Pidge runs off the rink, grabbing her phone and starting to run out. Lance skates off, faster, not even bothering to throw on his bladeguards.

"Hey, wait!"

Lance pants. 

"Wait!"

Pidge doesn't stop, nearly managing to hurtle out of the doors when she feels a familiar grip encircling her wrist again. 

"Ugh, stop that, seriously!" she berates. "Ever heard of personal space?"

Lance doesn't apologise, flashing another smile. 

"It's kind of late, you look like you haven't eaten-"

"-how the hell did you know?"

"-I'm magical, that's how. How about I treat you to supper? You pick the place, I'm new to here."

Pidge shakes her head, much to Lance's surprise. That usually works. Of course, how could expect the same things to work on Katie Holt that would work on normal girls?

"You just scared the shit out of me there. Not exactly the best first impression, McClain," she scolds, one eyebrow raised judgmentally. 

"Uh, well, sorry, thought it would be a fun way to...break the ice?" 

"Not funny."

"Aww, not appreciating my puns?"

"I'm leaving-"

"-Hey, come on, I'm sorry! I need someone to take me around, I only know my apartment and this rink in this area. I need a tour. Pleaseee Katie?"

Pidge pauses, staring at Lance, thinking. He wants a tour at midnight? Weird guy. But she was hungry. And he is treating. And this would be the perfect opportunity to get in with this guy before Hunk and Keith, as well as ask all the questions she's been burning to ask. Why did he retire so early? Why is he coaching here of all places? Why was he a dick and faked a serious injury just to tease her?!

He puts on puppy eyes, pouting like a little kid. 

What the hell. 

"Fine."

He breaks into a grin, bounding up and running to the changing room, changing out of his skates faster than Pidge has ever seen anyone do, zipping back right in front of her with his bag slung on his shoulder. 

"Oh wow, we have the same bag."

"Really? That's nice."

"I hate my bag."

"...oh."

As they walk out the doors, Pidge stops and turn to face Lance, who's too tall for comfort. 

"Hey, for the record, don't call me Katie."

"The hell am I supposed to call you then?"

She smiles, jolting Lance. She sticks out her hand, which he takes, shaking it firmly. 

"Call me Pidge."

¬¬¬

 

 

**A/N:**

1) Don't worry. This is the Figure Skating AU(no shit haha). Theatre AU is coming up after the Rules of Robotics and Love!

2) Give this story some love! Recommend this to your friends! Check this out on Wattpad too!

3) I wrote this while feverishly absorbing all the news of Season 7. What a day!

 

I hope you enjoyed this, shoot me a comment if you'd like me to continue this story or simply focus on a Theatre AU :D

 


	2. Chapter 2: I'd Rather Be Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1) Pidge's idea of a romantic date is far from traditional
> 
> 2) Lance meets the comical, terrifying and over-enthusiastic gang,
> 
> 3) Another late night skating session takes place in Castle Rink.
> 
> "TAKASHI SHIROGANE! KATIE HOLT!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My New Year's Resolution is to finish this book. To update this book.  
> Lets see how far I get, yeah?  
> Enjoy!

"A diner?"

Lance and Pidge stand in front of the  purple-lit sign reading 'Vrepit Sal's diner'.

"Hope you weren't expecting a club, McClain," Pidge raises an eyebrow, smiling a little as she pushes through the doors. The diner is nearly empty, save for a tall, hulking man standing behind the counter.

"Well, I was hoping to, you know, meet a couple ladies, get on the dance floor, knock back a few-"

"-Katie Holt!" booms the man, completely ignoring Lance's presence and high-fiving Pidge. "Good to see you back here! What's it, the fifth time this week?"

She grins, gesturing behind her back to a booth away from Sal. Lance slips away.

"Not that I'm counting, Sal," she starts, nodding her head towards the happy chef, "but I think it's the  _sixth."_

Sal claps his hands together happily. Lance zones out of the best-friend conversation while the two trade barbs about 'oh, that Hunk!'

"Whaddaya want?" Pidge appears out of nowhere suddenly, slapping a menu in front of him.

"Uh-"

"Two minutes. I've already ordered."

Lance flips feverishly through his menu, which admittedly looked better the more he flipped. Burgers, fries, shakes, waffles, pretty standard diner fare.

"Uh-um, I guess I'll take the garlic knot set?" he stammers, under too much pressure. To his relief, Pidge seems to approve of his choice, nodding and taking back the menu.

"Excellent choice. I'm Italian, did you know?"

She blitzes off, kicking up another storm of conversation with Sal. And no, Lance did not know. She'd always skated for America.

It all seems so... _surreal._

Somehow she's everything he expected and completely different at the same time. Definitely a lot more snarky than he expected.

Was it possible that she would have watched him while he was competitive? Adored him, even?

Nah. No way.

But he watched her. A lot. Something about her skating was...curious. Her skating was remarkably different to his. In too many ways to describe. 

His eye catches sight of the little dab of smeared black rimming her eyes. It can't help but remind him of the first day he watched her skate.

¬3 YEARS AGO¬

"And that was an excellent start to the senior Ladies' event! Up next, we have a first-year senior, who's done impressively getting into the final at only 16. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, from the United States...Katie Holt!"

Lance stands on the side in the exclusive skaters' area, a glistening silver medal hanging around his neck. Damn Lotor. Whatever.

The first thought he has when Katie Holt skates on the ice is about her dress. Outlandish. Most of her bodice is a sweet, innocent, sparkly white, but wrapping around her left and down her skirt is a stark, shimmering black, swishing around her almost hypnotically.

What song is she skating to?

Suddenly, Lance's heart skips a beat, because for a moment-and just a moment-she looks up, right into his widened eyes.

She nearly falters-but continues skating on, arms open, acknowledging the crowd.

Barely even warming up, Katie Holt settles into place, bowing her head between crossed arms.

_Damn._

The music starts, a barely discernible tinkle of bells.

She doesn't move.

Loudly, a famous descending scale of chords rings out, and she leaps into action.

Of course.

Phantom of the Opera.

Katie skates fast, powerfully, cutting across the ice with large crossovers.

"And she's setting up for her first jumping pass..."

Without hesitation, she picks straight up into a triple lutz, swinging back up with a triple loop right after.

Lance gaped. An almost non-existent combo for both men and ladies.

Double axel from difficult entry. Landed. Triple sal. Easy. Even in the air she looks bored.

The music softens, blurring into a lyrical section just as she moves into the step sequence.

_Think of me,_

_Think of me fondly,_

_When we've said goodbye..._

Fast steps, deep edges, plenty of upper body movement. Beautiful. Lance himself was strong in the steps too, but she...was she an ice dancer or something?

_Remember me,_

_Once in a while_

_Please promise me you'll try..._

Her eyes glisten a little. Hmm.

Katie speeds up again, exiting a flying spin and cutting across to the center, gliding backwards, and hitting a triple lutz right on the beat, the music abruptly banging back into the iconic theme. 

From here on, she's a majestic blur, jump after jump landed with remarkable ease. Triple flip. Triple flip, half loop, triple sal. Double axel, triple toe. No problem. No underrotation, shaky landings. None.

Finally, as the music builds, she enters a layback spin, pulling into a haircutter, into a beautifully arched Biellman. And as she exits, she reaches her hand upwards, bringing it in to her heart and crumpling to the ice.

_Remember me..._

Nothing short of amazing.

Lance couldn't tear his eyes away.

She won that day.

~~~

"Lance? Lance?" Pidge waves a hand in front of his face, finally eliciting a startled response. "Good, thought I lost you again."

"No-no, you didn't. Oh wow!"

Pidge proudly beams, holding two plates of food that materialized much faster than Lance had anticipated. One filled with garlic knots, the other with a burger. And damn, did the food look good. 

"Do you like peanut butter? I got us a milkshake to share, but I'm perfectly capable of downing a whole one on my own if you like-"

"-I like peanut butter-"

"-great!"

Pidge can only pray that Lance can't see how skittish and nervous she's been acting. Can you blame her?

"Mmm, this is good..." he mutters, hungrily tearing into his garlic knots. Pidge takes this as a cue to dig into her burger, the beefy juices making her sing mental hymns. Ah...good food feels doubly great on an empty stomach.

"Yeah, I got the food free because my pal Hunk helped Sal get a bunch of regulars," she responds, amidst chews.

"Aw man, Pidge, I was going to pay! Make a good first impression on my new colleague!" he jokingly whines, pouting dramatically.  Pidge scoffs.

"Sure, you can just go over there and pay. No problem."

Pidge doesn't like how she goes a little red when he gives her a small, amused smile.

"What brings you to Castle Rink, Lance McClain?" she starts. Okay, admittedly she's pretty crap at small talk, but she should make an effort. It's Lance McClain, for god's sake, its not every day she gets the chance to befriend such a guy. (though admittedly, her impression of him was rapidly...changing.)

He takes in a deep breath, letting it all out in a surprisingly dramatic sigh.

"You know, once you've seen it all, the big cities and the fast life, I just really wanted to settle down-"

"-cut the bullshit, no offense-"

"-okay, Shiro and Allura are two of my biggest skating heros, so of course I was going to take the opportunity," he admits, looking defeated. "I mean, wouldn't you? Plus-"

Suddenly, he cuts himself off, eyes bulging and stuffing a garlic knot in his mouth.

"Plus?" Pidge raises an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Nufin'!"

Hmm.

"They were part of my motivation too," she adds on, still looking skeptical. "I was lucky they took me."

Pidge remembers it solidly. There was no one else that she had even considered when making the switch to singles. It had to be Shiro and Allura. No one else. And they had taken her on faster than she had even hoped for. Back then, it all felt like a dream, to be coached by two skating legends. Now that she's witnessed Shiro falling on a waltz jump and Allura tripping on a backspin, it's...less idolatry. 

"Wonder if its too late for me," Lance jokes, looking up wistfully, voice going noticeably softer and quieter. 

An awkward pause. 

Pidge did hope he would return, but so many seasons of inactivity? She'd lowered her expectations. The men's field hasn't been interesting, with Lotor winning everything unopposed. Ugh.

"Ah, lets cut the serious anime backstory talk," he dismisses, much to her disappointment. "Give me the gossip! Tell me about Castle Rink! Who's the playboy, the emo, the uncle, the mom friend? You got any loooove going around?"

Pidge blinks. 

"I'll-I'll let you form your own opinions when you meet them tomorrow," she answers, mentally berating herself for sounding so stiff. 

"Fine," he answers, with a mockingly offended tone. "But you owe me the secret gossip after I meet them."

"Deal."

Lance looks up, eyes brightening. 

"Is Allura single?"

"LANCE-"

~~~

It's cold outside. But Pidge's face is rapidly getting hotter, and hotter, with her brain neurons firing-

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"Is it that bad? Is it a sketchy area? Pidge?"

Pidge glances down at the piece of paper, rubbing her eyes and face, and looking again. Nope. Still the same address.

"What is it?"

She lets out a sigh, slapping the little paper back into Lance's hand and starts to walk.

"Well, Lance," she starts, turning back. "You're living in the same apartment block as me. In fact, you're my neighbour!"

Lance raises an eyebrow.

"Hoo...ray?"

Just her luck. Now she has to live, breathe and literally sleep freaking Lance.

She's not sure how she feels about this.

"C'mon, I usually walk home. Doesn't take long to walk, and I'm too cheap for taxis," Pidge gestures. "You'll learn the way back easily."

"Whatever you say, Pidge."

Lance follows her, just a little ways behind. But he notices her shiver, rubbing her arms, and realises she's wearing oddly little, her shoulders exposed to the biting cold.

"Hey, Pidge-" he calls, tapping her shoulder. She stops and turns around, and Lance is suddenly struck by how  _tiny_ she is. Like an elf.

"-yeah?" she breathes out, now unable to hide her cold. He yanks off his jacket, thrusting it to her.

"Here. You're cold."

For a moment, she looks like she's about to protest, but finally gives in and lets him slide the too-large jacket onto her, his fingers just barely brushing the cream skin not covered by her flimsy knit sweater.

Pidge covers her face, a little flushed (from the cold?), burrowing into the jacket.

"T-thanks."

She pauses, turning to Lance.

"You still want to hear that gossip?"

Lance smiles.

~~~

Lance's jacket is warm. Cozy. She likes how its too big, enveloping her small body. And most importantly, it smells  _really good._ Some kind of musky sandalwood. Shit, did Lance see her face go all red?

"You're telling me that they haven't fixed this lift for  _how long?!"_

"Three years, no less," Pidge responds, casually and nimbly bounding up the stairs. Lance groans.

"This is my off-ice conditioning," he complains. "I thought they were going to fix this."

"If there's one thing I know, Lance, it's to never trust landlords."

She's up to their floor much faster than him. With a tinge of regret, Pidge slides the cozy jacket off her shoulders, slinging it over her arm. Lance appears, panting dramatically.

"How did you skate a near-whole program with this kind of stamina?" Pidge laughs, giving him a hand and yanking him up. Jokingly, Lance keels over, coughing and hacking.

"Oh, stop it-"

"-I'm an old man, Pidge."

Again, she pulls him up, Lance's fingers lingering for a touch too long.

"Goodnight, Lance," she laughs, thrusting the jacket to the panting boy. "Here."

To her surprise, he waves her off, turning and heading to his door.

"You-you can keep it. Think of it as my replacement first impression gift."

Smiling doofishly, he salutes, unlocking his apartment door.  Pidge stands still, eyes open wide and face definitely a little red.

"I-uh-"

"Good night, Pidge. See you tomorrow!"

And just like that, he's gone.

Pidge is left staring at his door, slowly putting the jacket back on.

What is this random smile?

~~~

The Castle Rink bustles with hordes of teenagers, kids and freezing parents.

"And now children, follow me! Push just like I showed you!" crows a redheaded, mustached man, stooping on the ice and gesturing wildly to a bunch of giggling kids.

"Hot dogs! Get your hot dogs!" Lance hears somewhere in the distance, a voice that's very vaguely familiar.

"That's the best you can do? You have to try harder, kids!" scolds a...mulleted guy, leaning on the wall with crossed arms and barking at a bunch of kids doing push ups. "Hockey players need some kind of arm stamina!"

Lance rolls his eyes at the hair, thinking how it could do with some relaxation treatments, or maybe a deep-conditioning? Either way, that boy needed his ass dragged to the salon-

"-I can't believe you beat me here!"

Lance looks in horror as a panting Pidge speeds towards him, her shrill exclamation breaking his train of thought.

"Relax, Pidge-"

Lance gently takes hold of her arms, stopping her in her tracks. Her hair is messy, loose strands flying everywhere, crystal beads of sweat dotting her brow and face painted with a ruby flush.

Pidge stops, bending over and looking up, near to hyperventilation.

"-ah-I told myself-oof-that I would-ah-show you around first," she breathes out. "But you know, it's-oof-okay, totally didn't-"

Suddenly, she cuts herself off, eyes widening and face somehow going even redder.

"What?"

"Nothing!"

"What is it, Pidge..."

"I said-"

"Lance! Welcome!"

It takes Lance  _every fiber of his being_ to not immediately scream and faint on the spot when he sees Takashi Shirogane wave, grinning at him.  _At him._ He's got the amazing build, two-tone hair, and most notably the prosthetic arm. As perfect as he looked on a screen.

Instead of that, he settles for a cool nod of acknowledgement, smile, and offered hand.

"Ni-nice to meet you, Mr. Shirogane."

Pidge snickers from behind Shiro.

"Call me Shiro. I see you've met Pidge," he notes, turning around and playfully mussing up her hair even more. "Such a ball of energy, isn't she?"

"Y-yeah," he answers, still a little dazed.

"I was very glad to see your application, Lance. Not only did you have a pretty good resume, Pidge here-"

Pidge's eyes flash angrily-suddenly, she's leaped on Shiro's back and slammed her tiny hands on his mouth with surprising force. Shiro laughs, a muffled sound behind the iron-grip, and all Lance can do is stare with bewilderment at the very odd scene.

Is this what it's like to be friends with your co-workers?

And as if it wasn't enough, watching the demure-sized Pidge grappling on his truck-sized idol, attempting to literally shake Pidge off, Lance's rapidly weakening heart has to take a literal  _goddess_ waltzing in the room.

Freaking.

Allura.

_The Allura._

She looks like she's glowing, with the great wide smile, bright white hair, and glittering blue eyes. Almost floating on air...

"TAKASHI SHIROGANE! KATIE HOLT!"

And all of a sudden, the goddess metamorphs into a blazing, raging, hellish ball of fire, her mere presence terrifying enough to turn Pidge and Shiro into a cowering pair of whimpering children.

"WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT TUSSLING IN THE ENTRANCE-oh hello, Lance, good to see you here!"

Lance blinks. She's smiling again, speaking in a perfectly pleasant British accent.

Wow.

"Um-uh-yeah, Pidge told me the way, we happen to be living across each other-"

"-LANCE!"

"-oh, is that so?" Allura ignores the outburst, merely sending Pidge a sideways smirk. "Excellent. You've got to meet Hunk, and Keith, and Coran-come on over here!"

Wait.

The redheaded man, mullet, and a guy in an apron-wait-

 _This_ was the Hunk of Castle Rink?

 _Shit_.

The three slowly sidle over, Coran literally leaping over in one bounce. The second Hunk sees him, Lance notices the little flash of recognition which soon dissipates; Hunk looks downwards, twiddling his thumbs. 

"This is Coran," Allura introduces. "He's our resident expert speed skater, won quite a number of medals in his day. Our most jovial coach."

Coran gives Lance a quick one-over, much more dramatically than most with squinted eyes and multiple moustache twirls, finally offering his hand, apparently satisfied. 

"Good to meet you, Lance. I'm Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, and I hope you like our humble rink. Belonged to Allura's father, you know, since-"

Allura's tinkling laugh cuts Coran off. 

"Let's save him the exposition, shall we? Okay, this is Keith. He-"

Keith holds up a (very edgily) fingerless-gloved hand. 

"Let's save him the exposition, shall we?" Pidge, Shiro and Coran snicker, much to Allura's obvious annoyance. Keith smirks, pleased.  "Hi, I'm Keith, I play hockey, I teach hockey, I don't like small talk."

He doesn't offer his hand, simply tilting his head in acknowledgement. Lance raises his eyebrows. 

"And this is Hunk!"

"He already knows who I am, Allura," Hunk waves off, suddenly seeming a bit unsure. "Right?"

Lance couldn't ever forget about Hunk. Who could forget about a happy, kind, friendly middle-school best friend? 

"How could I forget you, buddy? I always regretted leaving the Garrison," Lance sighs, moving in for their secret handshake, still remembered after so long. But either Hunk doesn't remember it, or Hunk rejects him completely, because Lance finds his hand floating unrequited in the air. So he slowly brings it back down to his side, feeling the burn in his face. 

  "No, no you didn't."  

Hunk doesn't look up at him. 

Allura, as if sensing the tension, cuts in with all her British-cheeriness. 

"All of you better return to your classes before we get World War Three up in here, Shiro and I will take Lance and get him oriented with our schedule. Pidge, go warm up, class soon!" she trills. Shiro and Allura both grab Lance, pulling him off to the office. 

Pidge frowns.

Lance never mentioned knowing Hunk. 

¬¬¬

"Long day, huh?"

Pidge laughs as Lance flops back on the couch, long legs and arms dangling everywhere.

"Allura never mentioned my work hours when she hired me," he groans. "I don't think I've ever taught twelve classes in a day before!"

"You probably should have asked," Pidge snarks, yanking at an arm and pulling him back on the ice with her, suddenly smiling. "or were you too tongue-tied?"

"I was-I was not!" Lance flushes bright red. "I was more tongue tied with Shiro, if I'm being honest!"

Pidge chuckles softly, skating a round of the rink effortlessly, clearly enjoying the freedom of an empty rink. Lance couldn't help but notice how pretty her auburn hair looked as it splayed out, trailed behind her. She does a spin, nice and centered, before lazily doing some footwork, a slow but elegant twizzle.

She looks...happy.

So he joins her, enjoys the free ice. Lets the tension of the day go away. Just him, Pidge, and the ice. Soon, what started as a free and easy skating session escalates, Lance absentmindedly transitioning into the step sequence from-

"-is that a short program?" Pidge softly wonders aloud, but it's enough to stop Lance, which Pidge immediately protests.

"Yes it is-was- _was_ ," Lance corrects, smacking his head. He'd liked that program. A lot.

He'd always been thinking too far into the future, huh? Came back and bit him on the ass.

"Why didn't-why didn't you use it?" she asks, almost shyly. With a single push, she glides right beside him.

"My injury. I don't know if you know-"

"-trust me, I know-"

"-oh?" So she does know his competitive career. "I just-just couldn't find it in me to go back."

Pidge is a confusing mix of emotions, flitting from sad, disappointed, to confused, annoyed.

"Who choreographed it? It's really good. Suits you."

"I did," Lance answers, a little surprised-and pleased-at the praise. "I was getting into that."

"You should choreograph for the kids," Pidge suggests, starting to skate around again. Lance follows her, the two falling into an easy and surprisingly comfortable pace and rhythm. "It's a waste."

Lance tosses his phone over to Pidge, heart nearly dropping out of his chest when she fumbles the catch.

"Just kidding."

"You're evil. Pick a song. Whatever you like."

Pidge frowns questioningly, but skates off, connecting the phone to the system. It's perfect timing, really, because the song only starts once she's rejoined him. 

 _It's just another night_  
And I'm staring at the moon  
I saw a shooting star  
And thought of you  

"Didn't peg you for a cheesy love song girl," he laughs, making Pidge stick out her tongue at him. He holds a hand out, which she reluctantly takes. 

"Well, there's a lot you don't know about me, especially my elusive music taste. So why did you ask me to pick a song, again-ah!"

Suddenly, Lance spins her around with alarming speed, breaking into a series of crossovers, her grip tightening with every movement. 

_I can see the stars_  
From America  
I wonder, do you see them, too?

 

"Try and improvise!" he laughs. As the chorus begins, Lance lets go of her, moving into a series of steps, leaping up into a simple delayed axel, perfectly timed to the music. It's alarming to Pidge. How does someone be so free and easy? Just make everything up on the spot?

 _I can hear your heart_  
On the radio beat  
They're playing 'Chasing Cars'  
And I thought of us

  PIdge can only watch in awe. Lance just...dances. A dancer on ice. While she was an ice dancer, everything was planned, every movement, every little step had to be perfect. She won with Matt because of how precise they were, and how she worked so well with him. But figure skating...figure skating is so different, that she cannot be rigid and win. 

  _So I took your hand_  
Back through lamp lit streets I knew  
Everything led back to you  

Lance reaches out for her again, their fingers nearly missing, fumbling to meet. It's awkward and clumsy, their attempts to skate together. But Lance seems determined, and Pidge actually finds herself enjoying their dance, of sorts. 

_You're the song my heart is  
Beating to _

The romantic implications of the song are not lost by Pidge, who can't help but wonder...but her thoughts are interrupted when Lance starts twizzling, almost like a challenge; so she joins him, twizzling just as fast, but completely out of sync, making Lance laugh. 

Nearly feeling free, letting her mind and body separate...

"Sorry I'm not your brother!" 

Something snaps. 

Pidge goes and turns the music off. 

"Wasn't that fun? C'mon, admit it!" he gives her a shit-eating grin, knocking her on the shoulder. 

"Yeah...yeah..." 

Pidge forces herself to smile. It was fun. Just...until it wasn't. 

"Hey, you haven't got a program yet," he points out, a little breathless. "Shiro was mentioning choreographing you new ones this season?"

Pidge coughs, looking as if she'd rather not answer that question. 

"Um-well, I wasn't sure if I was going to compete this season. Coaching-"

"-You're kidding, right?!" Lance interrupts, unable to control the outburst. "You're Katie Holt, you're-"

"-I'm  _what?_ " she questions, leaning in, tilting her head.

"-anyway, my point is you're still in competitive shape. You could still compete. Here's an idea, I'll choreograph your program for you! You said it was a waste if I don't choreograph, so this is a win-win situation, isn't it?"

Pidge freezes. 

"But..." 

"But what?"

It seemed a perfectly sensible idea. 

"Well, you see..." Pidge huffs out, stuffing her hands in her jacket pocket, gaze trailing to her skates. "You and I, we're very different skaters, you see...I mean, you're interesting! I skate to friggin' Beethoven! Not even Shostakovich at least! And not to mention-"

"O-Oh-Okay, calm down here," Lance gently takes hold of her hands, flying around in a multitude of directions. "First of all, your skating is not boring. Second of all, it's never too late to try something new! Come on, Pidge, what do you say?" 

Pidge pauses, looking down at her small hands in Lance's. 

And slowly, she utters a single word. 

"No."

She tugs her hands back. 

"I'm sorry, Lance. I don't even know if I'll be competing, you know? So I'd rather not waste your time. I meant what I said, you should go choreograph, we've got some talented kids here that I know you'll love."

Lance can only think about how there might be a ton of talented kids rising up in the ranks, but none of them like Pidge. So what if she skated to classical music? He's seen what she can do. She could change it up. She could become a star again, goddamnit, instead of being the fifth place finisher at a random Grand Prix event. He has so much to say, but all he can muster up is:

"Yeah."

~~~

The walk back home is nothing like it was the first day. Awkward, silent. Boring. Towards the end, Pidge seems to warm up a bit.

"Hey, I'm sorry," Pidge apologizes, as they begin their long,  _long_  walk up. 

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I kind of do."

When Lance doesn't respond, rather can't respond, Pidge takes it as a cue to stick in her earphones. 

What she doesn't remember is their great height difference. What she doesn't remember is how easily he can see her phone. What she doesn't remember-or maybe, doesn't know yet- is how Lance is the snoopiest person in Castle Rink. 

She's listening to Panic At The Disco, of all things. This is Gospel. A favourite of Lance-both of them, it seems. 

Lance laughs. 

He's going to make her one hell of a program. 

Pidge doesn't even hear him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this chapter! Share it with your friends if you liked it, that would be-would be really nice... :D


	3. Chapter 3: When I Grow Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1) Pidge likes Lance's jacket. Like REALLY likes it,
> 
> 2) Hunk opens up over an intense game of arcade basketball,
> 
> 3) Shiro and Allura pull a 'Godfather' on Lance.
> 
> "I may simply faint at this unladylike exertion!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First person to figure out the pattern of my chapter names gets a shoutout!

"Rise and shine, Pidgey!" 

No answer. Lance knocks again, louder. 

"Rise and shine, Pidge!"

Still no answer. 

Dang. Does she always wake up this late? How the hell does she get to work on time? Even Lance, who adores his beauty sleep, wants to be punctual. Totally not afraid of Allura. Totally. 

Pidge still isn't responding at all. Fine. Last chance. Lance relentlessly bangs the door with all the strength he's got, ignoring how the hinges squeak and door bends slightly under his force. He's forced to continually bang the rapidly-weakening door, nails biting palms and fist shaking, praying there's no pissy neighbours in the building. And finally,  _finally_ , the elusive hermit makes some sound;  Lance hears a little shuffle, a muffled groan, the rubbing of slippers on bare floor. 

The door clicks, and opens a crack. 

"Lance? What are you-" Pidge yawns mid-sentence, blearily looking up, "-what are you doing here?" 

The door opens a little more. Everything about her screams 'night owl that hates morning'; untidy hair, hastily-worn glasses, dark circles hanging under half-opened eyes, dry face. Something about her little yawn, sleepy smile, and the childlike way that she rubs her face just strikes Lance as so, so  _cute_.

But the thing that stood out most to Lance could only be the jacket Pidge is wearing. Large, swallowing her small frame, a vague smell of sandalwood. His jacket. Something tells him that she woke up exactly like this, too, wearing  _his_  jacket. Is he flushing?

"Lance?"

"Oh, sorry." Sobering up, he thrusts a paper bag and drink in her direction. "For you. Just thought a morning perk might be good."

Pidge takes the paper bag, opening it and peeking inside. The smile that grows on her face makes Lance glow.

"You remembered I like peanut butter," she says softly. "Thanks, Lance." 

"No problem. Coffee?"

"Definitely."

~~~

"So no assignments yet?" 

Lance's menu of conversation topics hasn't exactly grown. He still doesn't know what she likes, the short list looking something like this; punk rock, peanut butter and figure skating. Not very expansive. 

Pidge shakes her head, sipping the black coffee.

"I know I'm getting two, but that's about it."

"Which are you hoping for?" Lance asks, picking up the pace a bit. Pidge sig, needing to take double the number of steps to keep walking beside him. Heh.

"Skate America, of course. Cheaper, home country...and NHK. I love Japan," she says, the hint of a wistful, nostalgic smile appearing on her face. Lance adds the fact to his mental list: 'loves Japan'. He also starts a new mental list; 'Things Pidge and I have in Common', and adds Japan to the list. 

"Can I guess...anime?" he jokes. Pidge scoffs dismissively, as if saying 'hell no', but the little smile that she can't hold back makes Lance think otherwise.

"Sure, whatever you say," she answers, "but more for the video games."

Wait.

What?

"You like video games?" Lance manages, a bit too stunned to be coherent, coming out breathy. His expression, the epitome of enthusiastic disbelief, makes Pidge raise an eyebrow and adjust her glasses.

Who would have guessed? After all, she had seemed to be the poster child for 'straight-laced', only skating to classical music and warhorses, giving perfectly articulated answers in interviews and being perfectly polite to fans. And now, apparently, poster child might possibly like violently taking down enemies and cutting off heads. 

 _Brilliant_.

"Well, yeah. I mean, I've been playing Killbot Phantasm and pretty much every game like it since I was what, six? I kind of blame-I kind of blame my brother. He was the first geek in the family.  _He_  got me into video games, in fact."

Why does she suddenly look so wistful? She bites her lip, furrowing her brow and looking down, kicking at the pavement a bit. Lance wants to scream, because Katie Holt could probably beat his ass at any of the fifty games in his current collection.

"What?" she suddenly says, narrowing her eyes. "You like gaming too, or you think girls can't play or something?"

"N-nonononono, not at all, I love video games, and I just got the Mercury Game Flux-"

Pidge yelps, nearly knocking her own glasses off. 

"-No way! How the hell did you afford that on a coach's salary?!"

Lance smirks proudly at the wide-eyed, stunned Pidge.

"I only ate bread and margarine for a month. No joke. Would have died for garlic knots, but it was  _totally_  worth it." Lance puffs up his chest, laughing at a gaping Pidge. Anything for the newest consoles.

"Ohhkaayyy..."

~~~

Castle Rink's main, enclosed office-small, but functional-is starkly quiet in comparison to the buzz of the public outside.

Each coach has a small desk, immediately identifiable; Shiro's desk possesses military-like organisation, the stacks of papers perfectly lined up, a small picture of Shiro and a man in glasses right on top. Allura's is equal in organisation but twice as aesthetically pleasing, toned in pinks and purples and marbled whites. 

Lance notices how Keith's desk is completely empty, imagining Shiro yelling at Keith for not doing his paperwork. He could totally see Mullet doing that. Hunk's is decent, not the tidiest, with occasional burger wrappers strewn around. 

But Pidge's. 

Oh, god. 

 _Pidge's_.

Her papers cover the entire desk, an incoherent mess, multiple open pens and empty coffee cups strewn around carelessly. Crumpled papers surround her chair, which happened to have a broken leg, two little fluffy plushies acting as rudimentary paperweights. 

"I know, right?" Allura laughs, noticing Lance staring at Pidge's desk. "I've tried to get her to clean it up for two years now. Doesn't work at all."

"Hey!" Pidge protests, crossing her arms and pouting. "I know where everything is. Test me."

"Your class attendance records from last year."

Pidge takes one second to stick her hand into the mess and pulls out a set of stapled papers.

"Here!"

Holy shit. Last year's class records.

"Anyway," Allura says, looking impressed, "Let's get down to business. Along with the private classes, you'll teach a joint intermediate group class. Just work improving the kids in all areas. You should have all bases covered between you two. Simple enough?"

Kids! Lance's favourite to teach, because they normally liked him and respected him-okay, more of saw him as a friend that they listened to. But it was undeniable that his unorthodox methods usually worked, his students progressing faster than most. He'd always liked kids.

"Yep! No problem." Lance reaches for Allura's papers, flipping through the student profiles. Hmm...no double jumps, probably needs some help with spins...should be fine.

He only now notices how Pidge looks, less than happy, lips pursed and eyes squinted.

"Allura? Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Allura shrugs behind Pidge's back, her silvery hair bouncing after her.

The two ladies at the side speak very quickly and very quietly, their eyes flitting between each other and Lance, the only words he could catch being 'Lance', 'ship', 'seriously?!'.

But finally, after Allura finishes hissing, Pidge relents, heading back over to Lance and holding out her hand.

Handshake?

Lance slaps it. Like a bro.

"What the hell, dude?" she yelps. "I just wanted the papers!"

Lance feels his cheeks  _burn_.

~~~

It's almost adorable, watching a bunch of tiny, overeager, sugar-high kids surround the cartoonishly tall and lanky Lance; some wave their hands, begging for attention, others yelling for 'teacher to start class!'. It's almost a relief, having Lance; she's never been good with kids, more with teenagers. Pidge leans on the sideboards, sipping water and watching from the side. 

"Nice to meet you all! I'm Coach Lance, the gal drinking water over there is Coach Katie. I'll learn your names as we go along? Okay, kids, we'll begin with some basic stroking, and work on our back crossovers!" Lance says, bending down to their level. "And if you're good, and you work hard, Coach Lance here might just teach you something cool." He claps his hands together loudly, standing back up. "You ready?"

"YEAH!!!!!!!"

"Let's go!"

Pidge skates forward to join Lance as the children start speeding in large loops around the rink, scaring off the other public skaters who slip and slide on their blue rental boots.

"You're good with kids," Pidge remarks, gently correcting the posture of one of the little girls. 

"Thanks. I grew up with a lot of them-one second-" Lance quickly calls the children, splitting them into two groups and setting them off into practicing crossovers, finally rejoining Pidge after yanking one happy boy off his shirt. "Yeah, I've got a really big family. Two sisters, two kid nieces and nephews, a brother. You get the gist."

Pidge blanches. How does one survive in such a large family? She can't honestly say she can understand, considering her suburban four-member family. "Sounds nice, with-with so much...company."

She leaves the conversation hanging, skating to one of the groups and demonstrating the back crossovers. Children-scratch that, most skaters-never bend knees enough. Arms must be in the right position, lead hand slightly lowered, back hand raised. Eyes always to the back. Pidge's philosophy has always been that little details need to be attended to, should be drilled in from young. 

Maybe that's why Allura assigned her the class. Her military mentality does complement Lance's concept of being 'Tio Lance' to the kids. Maybe it wasn't all about the shipping or whatever...Allura usually tried to set her up with the guest coaches to no avail, usually jokingly. Hopefully different this time. 

"Yeah, it's pretty great, but you don't get much space or privacy," he yells out from the other side of the rink. Pidge thinks about how much of her free time was spent holed up in her room, alone, binging animes and doing work.

"Sounds great!"

"Coach? Why do you keep yelling to Coach Lance?" asks one of the little girls, looking up curiously. Pidge, slightly taken by surprise, jolts, but bends slightly.

"We were just talking. About...stuff."

"Stuff."

"Do you like Coach Lance? Like in a like-like way?" She tilts her head to the side. The girl couldn't have been older than eight, nine, with little plaits, the biggest brown eyes, and a little knit cap, the very picture of innocence. And she's asking about romantic attraction.

Pidge sighs.

"What's your name?"

"Lorelai Kaltenecker!" she answers with surprisingly strong diction. "But you can call me Rory."

Cute name. "Look, Rory, it's not very nice to ask about people's personal li-"

"-what's going on over here?" Lance asks, slinging an arm on Pidge's shoulder, around her neck and leaning on her. Shit. Pidge is startled to realise that he's somehow gathered all the kids in the center. 

"Nothing really." Lance doesn't need to know.

"See! He does like you!" Rory pipes up, pointing at the arm. Lance winks exaggeratedly, making Rory giggle.

"Only between you and me..." He winks again, nodding. "Go on, go join your friends." Lance gestures, Rory still giggling as she quickly skates off to join the gaggle of children in the center. Pidge turns to Lance incredulously. 

"Lance!"

"Can you blame me, Pidgey Poo?" He mockingly bats his eyelashes, making a kissy pout right in her face. Pidge rolls her eyes, making the same face back, ignoring how the children laugh at their stupid antics. Maybe they would like her better if she played along. 

"Flirt."

~~~

Pidge holds her edge, sailing backwards at a fast, controlled speed. Shiro watches on the sidelines, observant eyes never leaving her as she cuts across the rink.

 _One_.

She takes a breath in, relaxing her upper body. 

 _Two_.

She sends her left leg back, left arm following, right knee bending deep into an outside edge.

 _Three_.

Pidge slams the toepick into the ice, tiny shards shattering, shimmering around her as she sails upwards into the air, pulling effortlessly into a tight air position. One, two, three rounds;  Pidge lands solidly, exiting with just as much speed as she had entered with, running edge strong and secure, free leg swinging back into a high-held position. 

Triple lutz. Done. Hopefully she's done by now, she's honestly lost count of how many times Shiro made her jump, skate a circle, jump, skate a circle, jump...her head now spins even faster than when she's jumping in the air. 

Slowly, Pidge drags herself over to the side, needing to restrain herself from gulping down her entire water bottle. Sip. Sip. SIP-

"Not bad, Pidge." Shiro nods approvingly, arms folded and leaning on the side casually. "Remember to keep your upper body position in check while entering."

"Can I take a break?" she asks. 

"Mmm...."

Desperate times call for desperate measures; the very-tired girl puts on the puppy eyes, pouted mouth, clasped fists shaking.

Shiro swallows. Mouth thins into a fine line, shaking his head in mock disapproval.

"...fine."

"Thanks!"

Pidge catches sight of Lance coaching a small new kid, just getting on for the first time, clearly nervous. And it's adorable how patient and joking Lance is, distracting from the fear and bringing a smile on the kid's face.

It's...cute.

"Hey, Shiro, wouldn't it be so weird if someone else choreographed my programs this year?" Pidge laughs, eyes still glued to Lance. She swipes sweat from her brow. "Ha, imagine if it were someone like  _Lance."_

Shiro's face is unreadably calm, eyes traversing upwards in thought. Pidge really can't tell what he's thinking, but that's normal anyway, isn't it?

"That was random. What, are you bored of me already?" Shiro squints, poking Pidge's forehead. Pidge laughs, poking him back.

"You know it!"

Shiro sighs, pushing Pidge back to the centre of the ice and retreats to the edge, twirling his finger three times. Triples again, of course.

Over at the side, Pidge can just barely hear the chuckle of a familiar guy-

"-stop drooling over Lance and focus!"

"Okay, okay!"

Pidge almost swears she can see Shiro smirking.

~~~

"WHAT THE FU-"

"HAHAHAHA!"

Pidge and Hunk roll on the ground laughing non-stop at Keith, screaming and slamming his head into the DDR machine. The cheery, hyper music seems to taunt Keith as he complains that the game was "TOTALLY RIGGED BECAUSE NO ONE SHOULD BE ABLE TO LOSE BY TWO POINTS-"

Pidge and Hunk, still in peals of laughter, run off to the basketball game and leave Keith to vent his anger at the punching bag. The arcade is thankfully empty at the odd hour after dinner, leaving them with practically free rein of the place that Pidge could call her third home. 

"You know, he might score so many tickets that I can get that big green lion plushie," Pidge hums, gleefully flicking through the tickets she'd gotten by absolutely destroying Keith at DDR.

"We've never gotten enough. We stockpiled and never got enough," Hunk points out. It definitely is a gorgeous plushie; Pidge had been seriously lusting after it since it had been put up, admiring the fluffy spring-green fur, a hint of sparkle shining where the light hit it. 

Pidge slips in two tokens, rubbing her hands and taking a ready stance. Hunk twists the bandana on his head, punching his fists together.

_"5,4,3,2...1!!!!!"_

"AAAAAAAHHHHH!"

Hands fly furiously, grabbing ball after ball and sending it right through the hoop, never resting. Hunk and Pidge fall into a simple rhythm, ball after ball after ball sailing in without collision.

After racking up a beautiful number of points, the number still steadily going up,  Pidge's brain starts to wonder.

"Hey, Hunk?"

"Yeah?"

"What happened with you and Lance?" Pidge questions, quickly knocking her glasses back in place before grabbing another ball. "You looked like you recognized him yesterday..."

"He's famous. You showed him to me how many times before? Of course I recognized him."

Hunk suddenly misses his shot. Eyes travel upwards, fingers fiddle, feet tap. 

Pidge squints.

Liar. 

"Hunk..."

He scrunches up his face, grabbing a ball and carelessly tossing it at the hoop. Bounces off. 

"It was a long time ago. I don't even know if it's worth bringing up, you know? He probably doesn't even remember," he sighs, whole body slouching in the process. 

How many anecdotes did Lance throw at her about his 'best-friend' Hunk? Always defended him from bullies, dried off his tears when girls rejected him, suddenly became super good at cooking, and so on, and so on. 

 He definitely remembers. 

 "Oh, I think he does," she says, anticipating disbelief.   

 Pidge tosses in a final ball, the game coming to an end straight after. 

"Really?" Hunk's eyes widen, eyebrows raising slowly. Skeptical. Surprised. Worried. Annoyed. Almost pleased. All words Pidge can used to describe Hunk's mish-mash of facial expressions. "He used to forget everything. I'm telling you, man, he'd forget the quadratic formula two seconds after memorizing it."

"What happened?"

Hunk looks away. Pidge bends down, squinting at the string of tickets flying out of the basketball game machine. A lot, but not nearly enough. Oh well. 

"He's a figure skater. He had to train to get this good, right? " Hunk shakes his head. "I used to research skating camps, because I liked hockey and he liked figure. That's how we became friends from kindy through middle school. So I happen to stumble upon some famous skating program, and me being me just shows it to Lance. And what happens?"

Hunk's frown deepens. 

"He just left. Without a trace, no goodbye or explanation. I was his best friend...unless he didn't really care."

"Oh..."

  "Look, Pidge, I don't want any pity, it's something I've accepted a long time ago. I mean, I also wondered if it was my fault, I also wondered maybe if I didn't show it to him...but we just went our separate ways, and that's all."  

Hunk breaks out into his characteristic sunny smile again, ditching the melancholic tone, waving a sassy hand in Pidge's face. She giggles, slapping it away and shrugging nonchalantly. Sure, she'll forget about it now. Hunk obviously doesn't want to talk about it any more. 

"One more round?"

He smiles.

"You're on."

Even with the steady rhythm and sound of the ball whooshing through the flimsy net, Hunk by her side and scoring faster than ever, Pidge can't focus, only wondering-

What the hell is Lance's side of the story?

¬¬¬

It's at least slightly scary, seeing both Shiro and Allura grin at him conspiratorially from behind Allura's desk, glancing between each other, bright eyes glinting with glee.  Lance closes the door of the office hesitantly, toeing into the room as if the floor were littered with mines. It's very strange being at work after-hours, the office ominously dark without the outside lighting. Now that he thought about it, Shiro and Allura both looked like they were right out of the  _Godfather_  or something. 

"Sit, sit!" Allura ushers, dragging his chair from his desk and plopping it opposite of her own. He plops down, gaze bouncing between the two head coaches. 

"So...we've had this amazing idea recently. Involving you!" Shiro grins. "Pidge brought it up in class, and I thought-"

"-cut to the chase, Shiro!" Allura pipes up, smacking his shoulder, making a metallic clang. Right. Metal arm, Lance tends to forget. 

"-okay, okay..." Shiro nudges her, both turning to grin at Lance.

"We want you to choreograph Pidge's programs for the next season!"

Wait.

What?

"Wait, what?" Lance raises an eyebrow. "Pidge doesn't want me to. I offered already, actually."

"Wow, proactive," Allura compliments. "But we don't really care that she said no."

Wait.

What?

"But-"

"-Look, Lance, I'm pretty sure all three of us know Pidge is relatively...safe with her programs," Allura cuts in, quite effectively shutting up an argumentative Lance. "She's had classical programs ever since she started singles and I don't think that's going to change."

"Phantom Of The Opera?" Lance tries, weakly. Shiro shrugs.

"I don't know why she decided on that, but come on, even that's a warhorse. She just happened to do it very...dramatically," Shiro says, "but Lance, I think even you, only knowing her for two days, can see she's not going to change. And frankly, the judges aren't liking it."

Definitely. Lack of variety, even with traditionalism, doesn't exactly lead to the best PCS. Pidge's hadn't been rising despite a few years in senior ranks now, even with stellar consistency. If she could just skate like she did that day...so much potential.

And Shiro's right that Pidge certaintly seemed very stubborn and fixed since the beginning. Everything military precision, like the crafted notes of a classical song. Nothing free, nothing loose, like a string pulled taut.

Time to cut that string.

"As her coaches, we want you to choreograph for her. We think that you can get her to come around," Allura says. Lance crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair.

"And what exactly makes you think that?"

She winks.

"Let's just say I have a feeling."

~~~

Pidge is literally drained once she reaches her apartment, stumbling through the cracked glass doors, legs and arms aching from pro skating and very pro basketball.

Green lion still seems so far away.

"Fancy meeting you here, milady!"

Startled, Pidge squeaks, spinning around to see Lance bowed in the style of a medieval knight. She laughs, the sight just too ridiculous but seeming ridiculously Lance at the same time.

"Oh, good Sir, have you come to escort me to my palace?" Pidge trills, curtsying. He straightens up, clearly surprised at the cooperation.

"Indeed, milady, that is my charge. Unfortunately, I lack my noble steed, so we must make this perilous journey uphill on foot."

Indeed, the walk up to their apartment after a long day was definitely perilous. Together, the two drained skaters drag their aching legs up the stairs, one by one.

"Dear heavens, whatever shall I do!" Pidge slaps a dramatic hand on her forehead, leaning on the railing. "I may simply faint at this unladylike exertion!"

Suddenly, Pidge's foot catches on the cracked cement, nearly flying backwards-

"Oh dear heavens, milady!" Lance yelps, lunging forward and grabbing Pidge's hand.

"Holy shit," she breathes out, heart beating painfully fast. An injury would have been a total bitch right now, right before the start of the season. Actually, an injury would be a bitch at any time in her life. 

"No longer 'milady', huh?" Lance smiles.

"I guess not. Literally 'tripped up', didn't I?" she laughs, letting go of Lance's hand and straightening up. "Thanks."

"No problem."

In that silence, for a moment, just a tiny split-second, Pidge thinks about asking him everything she's wanted to for the whole day. It seemed strange that Lance would ever be so cruel to Hunk, even if it was as simple as never having closure. But something tells her it's not the time, it's not the place to try. Maybe it's how Lance grins right at her, doing that thing where he rubs the back of his neck, that stops her. 

Hesitantly, almost regretfully, she reaches for the door of her apartment. 

"Goodnight, Lance."

He waves, saluting. 

"Goodnight, Pidge."

As he turns around, she catches the briefest of glimpses at his phone, left on the music player app. 

Hmm. 

Why is he listening to 'This Is Gospel?'

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Drop a comment if you like :)


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